


Can't take my eyes off you

by TamingAlice



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, College AU, F/M, Fluff, Highschool AU, M/M, Multi, Song fic, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamingAlice/pseuds/TamingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You said you didn't like me." Francis reminds him. "Your hair was like gold and you smelled sweeter than anyone I had ever met; I liked you as much as a six year old could." FrUk. Series of one-shots. Different pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CanUk

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

_"You're just too good to be true..."_

Matthew groans miserably, sinking further into his couch as he dabs at his runny nose with a tissue. His cold does not seem to be lightening up, which means that he will be subjected to the abject torture that is sitting bored at home for yet another day. He tosses the used tissue into the waste bin in front of the couch, glad that it, and the tissue box, which is right beside him, are within reasonable distance.

His phone buzzes and he groans again, eying the cellular device distastefully as he considers the amount of energy required for him to retrieve it from its position on the coffee table, which is admittedly only two feet away. The cell buzzes again, and Matthew lets out a long suffering sigh as he decides to man up. He rolls onto his side, extending his left arm towards the table and stretching until his fingers grasp onto the cool metal of his only link to the outside world. Unlocking his phone with clumsy fingers, Matthew opens his inbox, smiling a bit as he realizes that both messages are from Arthur.

Matthew opens the first one, staring unhappily at the screen after quickly scanning the contents of the text.

_Happy Valentine's Day, love._

He hadn't realized until now that today is Valentine's Day, but a glance at his phone's date assures him that it's true. Matthew lets out a frustrated huff and deposits his telephone beside him, rolling onto his side and attempting to immerse himself in the program, of course failing.

Scrambling for a moment for the remote, Matthew finally locates it, making quick work of turning off the television. His home is silent once more, violet eyes running absently over the bumps on the ceiling as he mumbles, "Daytime television sucks."

Grimacing at his congested voice, Matthew pulls another tissue from the container, blowing his nose for a solid twenty seconds before discarding the used wipe. His phone buzzes again, pressed against his hip. Surprised, Matthew picks it up, entering his password again and opening the text that he had forgotten about.

_I love you._

Matthew tells himself that the words don't make his heart skip a beat, which is a wretched lie. He imagines Arthur murmuring them in his ear and holding him tightly, his embrace warm and comforting.

 _'Why do I have to be sick today of all days?'_ Matthew gripes internally, hands entangling themselves in the soft woolen blanket that covers him _, 'That's just my luck.'_

But maybe his luck isn't too bad, Matthew thinks, attempting to be positive despite his woe. Perhaps he could endure the occasional spot of misfortune because it evens out. Yes, his older brother overshadows him (Francis has always been so good at _everything_ ), and his parents are a bit neglectful, but that's alright because he has Arthur.

Arthur Kirkland, his lovely English boyfriend who possesses a sharp wit and a cynicism that contradicts his moments of idealism greatly. Arthur, the perceptive Lit major who found a way into Matthew's heart with his emerald eyes and unkempt hair and flowery language.

Arthur has kept him company for the past few days, indifferent towards the nasal quality of Matthew's voice, unbothered by the tissues that have piled up, and completely fine with looking after him. He has been keeping a constant vigil, leaving Matthew's home only to fetch something from the pharmacy, to buy something to eat, or to attend classes. He has not complained once, nor has he made any disparaging comments about Matthew's bedraggled appearance.

For some reason, be it the cough syrup he took earlier or the soothing thoughts, Matthew is feeling rather drowsy, so he quickly types a reply, sending it and allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness.

_I love you too._

* * *

When Matthew comes to, the tissue bin is empty and the lights are on in his living room, signaling the arrival of night. His eyes flutter open slowly, sounds in the kitchen alerting him of Arthur's presence.

His first coherent thought is, _'I hope he's not cooking.'_

But Matthew does not smell anything foul and there is no smoke coming from the kitchen, so he assumes that Arthur is making a beverage of some sort (the only foods Arthur never ruins are drinks). The hint of cinnamon in the air informs him that Arthur is making hot chocolate. This is confirmed when he exits the kitchen, crossing the room in a few short strides and setting a mug on one of the coasters scattered across the table. Matthew sits up, moving his legs in front of him and making space for Arthur, who settles into the opening, handing Matthew a mug with a firm "Careful, love: it's hot."

Matthew thanks him quietly, taking a sip of the liquid, which mercilessly scalds his tongue, before deciding that the whipped cream barrier does not provide sufficient protection against the heat and leaning over to set his cup on another coaster.

He returns his attention to Arthur, who looks fairly amused by this display. Matthew rests his head against his shoulder, asking quietly, "Did your professor go on another rant about Romeo and Juliet?"

"No," Arthur responds, shifting so he can tuck Matthew's head under his chin, "although it would have been more fitting, considering." Arthur chuckles quietly, the sound washing over him like the ocean's waves, "He did give a lengthy lecture on sicknesses and plagues in classical literature, though."

A laugh spills from Matthew's lips at that, and he is glad to hear that his voice has _almost_ returned to its normal frequency, "I'm afraid you can't lock me up, I've already done that to myself." He shakes his head, delighting in the fond smile Arthur is wearing, "I guess Romeo won't get his letter."

Arthur waves his hand dismissively, remarking, "He probably would have killed himself anyway: fate happens to be an inescapable thing."*

Fate...Matthew turns the concept over in his head for a moment, considering the force that makes things the way they are. Perhaps it's his illness or the fact that he's nestled into Arthur's side, but his next words escape his lips before his sluggish mind is able to stop them.

"Do you think that we're fated to be together?" He blurts it out, feeling a bit woozy and hopelessly in love, his cheeks flushing darkly once it occurs to him that he has made a fool of himself.

For a few moments Arthur does not reply, and Matthew begins to feel nervous, but then his silken voice cuts smoothly through the silence, frankness seeping from his words, "I think that you are all that there will ever be for me. If that means that we're destined to be, then yes."

Trying to hide his overjoyed grin, Matthew bends over to retrieve his cooled drink, whispering softly, "I love you, Arthur."

Arthur takes ahold of Matthew's free hand, bringing it close to his face and pressing a firm kiss to each fingertip. He lowers Matthew's hand and intertwines their fingers when he is done. Arthur turns, tilting Matthew's chin up and sealing their lips together.

"I love you, Matthew." Arthur breathes, kissing him again.

Sometimes, Matthew can't help but feel that the times spent with Arthur are dreams. Arthur is simply too good to be true, but he is, and he's Matthew's.

Matthew feels lucky when he's with Arthur.


	2. UsUk

_"...Can't take my eyes off you..."_

Arthur stubbornly stares ahead, gaze resting on the clock as it ticks ever so slowly, feeling more and more embarrassed as the seconds turn into a minute and those blue eyes are _still_ on his face. He's painfully aware of the redness in his cheeks, and that soft, romantic side of him can't help but wonder why Alfred's attention is on him. Perhaps the bloody idiot _finally_ realized how perfectly suited they are for one another, the floodgates opening and releasing unbridled adoration.

 _'Unlikely.'_ Arthur frowns slightly, _'It's best not to get my hopes up.'_

The bell rings and the school day is over. Arthur tears his eyes away from the sun dial's descendant (he pauses to shake his head at himself), standing and slinging the strap of his already packed satchel over his neck. Per usual, Arthur does not join the rest of the class in the mad rush towards the door, instead hanging back, although this time his intent is to confront Alfred.

Alfred is gathering his belongings hastily, obviously taken by surprise by the bell (p _robably busy staring, the git)._ Alfred's back is to Arthur when he reaches his desk, formidable eyebrows furrowed in a show of irritation, "What is it about my face that interests you so much?"

Alfred doesn't reply, still rifling through his bag. Arthur takes his silence as an invitation to continue, glaring a bit at the lack of a response, "You've been staring for the whole bloody hour; how do you expect me to complete my work with such a huge distraction?"

_'Shite.'_

The blush returns as Arthur realizes the implications of what he just said. He admitted that Alfred's staring was making it difficult for him to concentrate, and now he's reddening, so Alfred is bound to figure it out. Of course, the rational side of him understands that what he said doesn't necessarily have those implications, but romanticism is triumphant at the moment and Arthur isn't thinking clearly.

Most likely because of the intense look Alfred leveled him with earlier on.

It could be that the date is playing a role in his foolish behavior: Valentine's Day always sets his heart aflutter with a nervous sort of anticipation, leaving Arthur to pine even more than he usually does.

Because perhaps Alfred will say something. Perhaps he'll come to his senses.

If it happened on any day it would have to be this day. Alfred has always been horribly fond of Hollywood films and cheesy clichés, which means that Valentine's Day would, in his mind, be the perfect day to confess to someone.

Hopefully that someone will be Arthur.

"Found it!" Alfred whispers to himself after a moment. If the room hadn't been empty Arthur wouldn't have heard him, but it _is_ empty and he _did_ hear him, so he's puzzled by this statement.

Alfred turns around, one hand positioned behind his back, clearly hiding something from Arthur. He smiles charmingly, blue eyes shining as he responds to Arthur's earlier inquiries, "You have beautiful eyes, for one." Arthur is speechless, shocked by the compliment, and Alfred continues, his cheeks a bit pink, "I have to sit in a classroom with _you_ for the entire period; I think _I_ was more distracted."

A bouquet of roses is presented to him, revealing what it is that Alfred was concealing. Arthur accepts the flowers with a quiet thanks, cradling them close to his chest as he examines Alfred's uneasy expression.

He is taken aback by what he perceives, a small smile forming as he asks, "Are you confessing?"

A nervous smile answers him, and Alfred inquires softly, "Are you accepting?"

Arthur would have thrown the roses at Alfred if they weren't so lovely; he has never met anyone so oblivious.

Instead, he sets the arrangement on the table and takes a few steps closer, kissing Alfred. It takes a moment, but he reciprocates, wrapping his arms around the Arthur's waist and swiping his tongue across pale lips in the hopes that he will be granted entrance. Arthur complies, his hands locking behind Alfred's neck, and their tongues engage in a brief battle for dominance before Arthur surrenders, a moan slipping from his lips as Alfred's tongue strokes the roof of his mouth.

They pull apart after a few moments, Arthur's face pressed into the crook of Alfred's neck as he mutters, "I love you, git."

Alfred laughs lightly, arms tightening a bit around Arthur as he replies, "I love you too, Artie."

He wants to scowl, but the happiness he feels won't allow it.


	3. Spamano

_"...You'd be like heaven to touch, I wanna' hold you so much..."_

_'Why don't you love me, Lovino?'_

Antonio stares morosely at the back of Lovino's head, his heart clenching painfully as he continues to flirt with the pretty blonde woman, _'What does she have that I don't?'_

Belle is beautiful, yes, and she is charming, Antonio knows this, but there is one serious flaw that he cannot overlook: she is not Antonio. Lovino has been with Belle for years now, his love for her is unquestionable, and her devotion matches his. Their break-up is very unlikely, a thought that causes Antonio's frown to deepen.

Is it because he isn't a woman? Does Lovino not have feelings for men? Antonio would change his gender if he could, because for Lovino he would do anything.

 _'Would_ you _do anything for him, Belle?'_ The thought is bitter and envious and so unlike him that Antonio berates himself, _'She's your friend, your friend who you want the best for.'_

Has Antonio been silent all this time for that reason? Has he been considering Belle's happiness?

 _'No,'_ He plasters on a grin when Lovino turns to face him, greeting Lovino and Belle in a merry tone, ' _I do it all for_ you _, Lovino. If_ _you had feelings for me I would be with you, regardless of how Belle would feel about it.'_

But that's a selfish thought, and Antonio knows that it's wrong to be selfish, so he feigned joy when they came to him for the first time as lovers. He laughed jubilantly and congratulated them, wishing them well.

He's been pretending ever since.

"I'll see you later, 'Toni." Lovino calls, taking Belle by the hand and exiting the coffee room.

The smile vanishes, leaving behind a small frown and a tightness in Antonio's chest that he only feels when Lovino does things like _that._ Using nicknames, coming to his home to help harvest the tomatoes, smiling at him, showing concern for his welfare. Things that prove that he _cares_.

And it's nice, it's sweet, and it makes Antonio happy, but he can't help but _hate_ those gestures for the very same reason he enjoys them. He doesn't _want_ Lovino to do things that raise his hopes, he doesn't _want_ to be teased like that.

His heart can't bear it.

Because all he wants to do is wake up in the morning next to Lovino, reveling in his presence and thanking God that this wonderful man loves him. He wants to drift into consciousness with Lovino in his arms, already awake and smiling gently at him. He wants to stay in bed all day and cuddle, enjoying Lovino's presence. He wants to make love to his sweet Lovino, murmuring sweet nothings in his ear. Antonio longs to embrace him, to caress his skin, to capture his sugary lips and engage his tongue (so often used to curse people out) in a battle for dominance.

He just wants to touch him, to be able to hug, or kiss, or make love to Lovino.

But Antonio cannot, he cannot because his love is in a relationship with a _woman_ and has been with that same _woman_ for years.

He can sweep Lovino into his arms, but Lovino will squirm out of them just as quickly. He can cradle Lovino's face in his hands, making everything less intimate by squeezing his cheeks and comparing him to a tomato, but Lovino will curse and pry Antonio's hands off his face.

Antonio resents Belle for occupying all of Lovino's attention, for being the object of his affection, for _touching_ him. He knows that they have sex, of course they do. He knows that she feels Lovino's skin against her own, that she runs her hands through his hair, that she is allowed to feel him.

He's jealous, which is another awful thing, but so many years of unrequited love have transformed Antonio into a callous man, one who is hard and sorrowful and tired. He is sick of being so close, yet so far away, and keeping up this façade is exhausting.

Every dream he dreams is about Lovino, his dear Lovino, who smells of cinnamon and sounds lovelier than any song that has ever reached Antonio's ears. Lovino who is beautiful and graceful and fits perfectly in his arms. Lovino, who he wishes would allow their skin to touch for more than a few seconds. Lovino, whom Antonio loves and adores and _needs_.

The man whose touch he longs for.

The man whom he cannot have.

Antonio hates himself for what he has become.


	4. RusCan

_"...At long last love has arrived..."_

"I don't like him." Alfred mutters petulantly, glaring at the wall in front of him as if it is Ivan's face, "He's a sneaky bastard."

Alfred has developed an uncalled for dislike for Matthew's boyfriend, Ivan. It's completely ridiculous because Alfred knows basically nothing about Ivan (for lack of trying) and still claims that he is not good enough for his younger brother. His negative feelings are based only on the fact that he is a) dating Matthew and b) a Senior. Matthew is a Junior in high school and feels that his brother is being a complete hypocrite. When Alfred began dating his girlfriend, Lucia, they were in the same situation.

Alfred maintains the position that it's entirely different because he wasn't trying to stuff Lucia in the trunk of his car and sell her to mad scientists from Norway.

Alfred thinks that, because Ivan is older and Russian, he is completely unhinged and has nothing but malicious intent towards "maidens", like Matthew. Alfred paid _far_ too much attention to their late grandfather's rants about "those damn Russkies", in Matthew's opinion.

Matthew rolls his eyes, not even bothering to look up from his Biology homework as he answers, "You don't even _know_ him."

Alfred scoffs, "I know him! He's the guy who's trying to deflower my innocent little brother-" Matthew blushes, shoving away any suggestive thoughts the statement might have given him, "-and axe murder him!"

The murdering thing is new. Usually, Alfred has Ivan kidnap him or wrong him in some other way instead. It's certainly better than the time he suggested that Ivan would love nothing more than to grind Matthew's innards into a paste and feed it to the polar bears in his backyard, but Matthew is getting tired of Alfred's wild stories and his distrust of someone who makes Matthew so genuinely happy.

That, and the tales are getting less and less accurate. Really, polar bears in Virginia?

Matthew sets his pencil down, an irate expression in place as he asks, "Have you even _spoken_ with him?"

Alfred shakes his head, standing and grabbing a coke from the fridge, "I didn't have to talk to him to figure that out: it's in his eyes." He pops the can open, "Now be a good boy and do your homework."

Sometimes Matthew wishes he had decided to live with their cousin Arthur instead. He and Alfred's parents died a few years ago in a car accident and, seeing as Alfred was too young to be his guardian at the time, they were sent to live with their English cousin, Arthur Kirkland, who lives in New York (neither of them wanted to live with Arthur's older brothers or his mother, who lives in Ireland). Three years ago, when Alfred turned eighteen, Matthew was asked to choose between his sibling and his cousin, and decided to move back to their hometown because he would miss Alfred far too much if he lived with Arthur.

And, he thinks with a fond smile in place, if he had stayed with Arthur he wouldn't have met Ivan.

"Why do you have that look on your face?" Alfred asks. He pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he orders, "Stop thinking about him!"

* * *

Matthew slides his spoon through parted lips, smiling happily as the vanilla ice cream begins to melt on his tongue. He and Ivan are seated on the couch in his living room, a pleasant air surrounding them as they dine on their icy treat and watch "Captain America".

Alfred, seated on one of the loveseats, eyes the young couple suspiciously over his bowl of chocolate ice cream but does not say anything about their close proximity or the fact that their fingers are interlocked.

After a very long argument, with several tangents about stranger danger (despite the fact that Matthew has been dating Ivan for six months now and has known him since he and Alfred moved back), Alfred finally agreed to invite Ivan over for dinner. Things started off a bit tensely, what with Alfred falling into his role of overprotective older brother and Ivan kissing Matthew chastely. The situation became civilized after a short interrogation and Alfred's discovery that Ivan genuinely cares for Matthew.

That, and Alfred had a brief bonding moment with Ivan over their shared love for "Captain America".

After all that he's been through, it's nice to have someone who makes him feel as special as he feels when he's with Ivan. Before they met, Matthew was even more shy than he is now and far less confident, but Ivan has made him feel valued and breathtakingly joyful. Because of the sweet Russian beside him, he no longer feels alone.

" _Lyublyu tebya_." Ivan whispers in his ear, pressing his lips to the side of Matthew's head.

Matthew squeezes Ivan's hand, replying softly, "I love you too."

Alfred can't help but smile at the sight, glad that his little bro is happy.


	5. Romerica

_"...The sight of you leaves me weak, there are no words left to speak..."_

Lovino Vargas can't stand Alfred F. Jones.

Jones makes him sick, to be honest: his smile makes Lovino feel like he's going to pass out, and his mere presence leaves Lovino's mouth dry and his hands clammy. Jones is like a fever, and Lovino does as much as he possibly can to distance himself from him for that very reason. He pretends that Jones doesn't exist because he doesn't like what Alfred ( _'Jones'_ He corrects himself, frowning, ' _Not Alfred'_ ) turns him into. He doesn't like the way his thoughts are scrambled whenever he's around Jones.

He hates being such a mess.

Lovino sucks a breath through his teeth as his eyes lock with Jones's, breaking eye contact as quickly as possible and hoping that no one will notice how his cheeks have darkened. They probably haven't, seeing as Lovino is just another student heading to class, but the irrational part of him (which is the dominant part when it comes to all things Jones) believes that everyone has taken note of his flushed face and that rumors are being spread as he walks.

They would probably think that Lovino _likes_ Jones.

He almost scoffs at the notion, ' _He's so obnoxious. I'd be a dumb ass to like him.'_ Lovino enters his english room hurriedly, not wanting to risk another encounter with Jones, _'I wish I didn't have to deal with the bastard.'_

Lovino takes a seat in the back of the class beside his friend Belle, addressing her more warmly than he would others, " _Ciao_ , Belle."

Belle nods in acknowledgment of his words, a faraway look in her eyes as she stares at the back of Antonio Carriedo's head. Lovino rolls his eyes at her behavior, unable to understand why someone would act so ridiculously, and pulls out his binder.

* * *

Something odd happens during his history class: Jones speaks to him for the first time.

It isn't as if they never spoke before then, it's just that they haven't ever had a full conversation. The only times Jones ever uttered any words to Lovino were when he needed a pencil or something. Lovino had been completely fine with that arrangement: he didn't want to waste too much time on someone who made him feel as crappy as Jones did. And, seeing as history happens to be their only period together, Lovino's interaction with the fucker was limited.

Until today.

"OK, class." Mrs. Hills begins, a weary smile on her face as she regards her students (Lovino can understand why: most of the kids in this class are dicks), "Today we're going to pick partners for our projects on the nineteen twenties." This grabs the attention of the students who were previously uninterested, and Lovino begins to scan the room, "You have one minute to pair up."

This isn't a problem at all: Lovino and his table partner, Yong Soo, have an unspoken agreement that they are to be each other's partners whenever situations like this arise. Lovino smirks as he watches his classmates scramble, turning to face Yong Soo, "Look at those fuckers-" He trails off, realizing that Yong Soo isn't beside him, and mutters, "Fuck."

Lovino searches the room for Yong Soo, feeling a bit panicked as he realizes that most of the kids are already paired up, and hopes that his suspicions are incorrect. But, of course, they're not. Yong Soo is several rows up with Kiku, a meek Japanese kid, smiling triumphantly, completely unaware of Lovino's plight. Lovino shoots him an unnoticed glare. He receives an apologetic smile from Kiku, who, for once, is not partnered with Jones.

"Twenty seconds." Mrs. Hills announces.

Lovino mentally goes over all the curses he knows as he tries to find a new partner. The only people left are Gilbert, Arthur, and Jones, whom Lovino would _never_ want to partner up with. And Eyebrows looks furious (probably because that frog isn't here so he has to choose between two idiots-not that Francis isn't a dumbass too), so he's not going near him, which leaves Gilbert. That's alright with Lovino. Gilbert is generally an OK guy and Lovino has already begrudgingly accepted that they're probably going to be connected by Feli and the potato bastard's marriage some day, so why not?

But his luck is shit, because Arthur makes his decision faster, deciding that Gilbert is the more bearable of the two and dragging the unprotesting teen to a desk. The only person left is Jones, who sticks his tongue out childishly at the pair before looking around and seeing the empty space beside Lovino, which is when Lovino begins to hyperventilate.

 _'There must be some way to get out of this.'_ He thinks, staring resolutely at the desktop so he won't have to meet Jones's eyes, ' _I_ can't _work with him.'_

But all of the plans that he can come up with during the five seconds it takes Jones to reach his desk are shitty, so Lovino is forced to remain in his seat and endure whatever comes next. He certainly doesn't expect Jones to be so familiar with him, which is probably why he stares blankly when Jones says, "Hey, Lovino!"

 _'Who the_ hell _does he think he is?'_ His eyebrows knit together as he regards Jones, _'He shouldn't have said my name like that.'_ He isn't sure what exactly it was about the way that Jones said his name, but his stomach did a flip and Lovino knows that such a reaction cannot be good, _'I feel sick.'_

"You're with Lovino then, Alfred?" Mrs. Hills confirms, pencil posed to jot down their names.

Lovino wants to say no, but there's no other option and his mouth doesn't seem to be working, so he can only sit silently as Jones gives an affirmative response.

"So," Jones begins, immediately launching into the details of their project, "since we have to do something that includes both of our countries, can we do something about all of the Italian immigrants that came over, and the mobs and stuff?"

"Uh..." It takes a moment for him to recover, "Yeah, sure." Lovino adds an insult to make sure Jones knows how he feels about him, "Bastard."

Jones is unfazed, still smiling as he exclaims, "OK, sweet! We should probably meet up after school, so do you wanna' go to my house or yours?"

He wishes that he could choose the library, because he doesn't want Jones in his home and he doesn't want to enter the idiot's abode, but the library is undergoing structural repairs and is currently closed, forcing him to pick one of the two.

So he goes with what is hopefully the lesser of two evils, "You can come over at five, Jones." Jones nods in agreement, although he frowns a bit, which puzzles Lovino. A note of confusion is in his voice as he asks, "What happened to that dumb ass smile?"

Jones replies in a more subdued tone than he usually uses, and Lovino can't help but think that he looks odd when he's not grinning, "Call me Alfred, OK? The only people who call me Jones are Braginski and his crazy sister."

He opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it, mumbling a quiet, "Alright."

The smile that answers him makes his heart flutter, and Lovino is beginning to think that maybe it's not sickness that he feels when he's around Jon- _Alfred_.

 _'That means I'm a dumb ass.'_ He groans internally.

* * *

Maybe he should have gone to Alfred's house instead. Seeing as he apparently has a crush on Alfred (he tried to deny it after that startling realization, but the butterflies that have taken up residence in his stomach didn't allow him to), Lovino doesn't want to be embarrassed by his brother or his grandpa. Or even worse, _Gilbert_.

Lovino represses a shudder at the thought, hoping that he made the correct decision (there could be more potentially mortifying things at Alfred's house). He glances at Alfred, who is looking around Lovino's room curiously, and prays that there isn't any laundry on the floor or anything (a look at the hamper assures him that everything is tidy).

"Right." Lovino says, hoping to draw Alfred's attention away from his bookshelf, "So, uh, where do you wanna' start?" He steps further into the room, the sound of Alfred closing the door leaving him a bit giddy. He plops onto his bed, snatching his computer from his bedside table and pressing the power button, "I was thinking we'd begin with their reasons for leaving Italy..."

"That sounds awesome." Alfred replies, sitting beside Lovino, their arms brushing and sending sparks down Lovino's spine, "So, the American dream, right? Streets made of gold, and picket fences for all?"

Lovino snorts, shaking his head once as he logs in, "Fuck picket fences; it's all about financial stability."

He blushes a bit after the curse slips out, hoping that Alfred won't be offended by his foul mouth. It takes a moment for him to realize that he's being ridiculous: Alfred is friends with Arthur, and Arthur knows more curses than Lovino can ever hope to learn (which is something that Lovino will _never_ admit aloud). He can't stand how much of a pussy he's turning into, and laments it even more when Alfred shifts, their thighs touching for a moment.

The obscenity of the situation doesn't escape him: Lovino, who prides himself on his ability to not give a fuck, is overreacting to everything that Alfred, someone whom he's hardly spoken to, does. He doesn't even know how these feelings came to be! Alfred being with him is completely unthinkable!

 _'_ Such _a dumb ass.'_ Lovino thinks again, a sigh escaping his lips before he can stop it.

"Are you OK?" Alfred asks, blue eyes shining with concern. He's so close now that Lovino has forgotten how to breathe, only nodding mutely as he opens up a browser. Alfred gives him an unconvinced look, "Is something wrong, Lovino?"

And that's when Lovino kisses him. That single utterance of his name pushes him over the edge, driving him to do something that he wouldn't have done if Alfred had been further away and hadn't asked to be called Alfred in the first place. What surprises him more than his own audacity is the fact that Alfred returns the kiss, a hand coming up to cradle Lovino's face as his lips move tenderly against Lovino's.

 _'This is what heaven is like.'_ Or at least he hopes so, wanting to be able to experience such blissful feelings when his time on Earth has ended. His heart feels like it's going to explode, his nerves are on fire, and if he was unable to speak before he surely won't be able to when they pull apart.

And it's wonderful.

"I asked Kiku to partner up with Yong Soo." Alfred admits when they break apart, grinning stupidly, "I'm glad I did."

He wants to say something ("you're an asshole", "I like you", "kiss me again"), but he can't.

Alfred frowns as he averts his gaze to the computer screen, "We have our project to work on..." His previous expression returns as he adds, "But it's not due for two weeks. Wanna' watch the Godfather?"

Lovino can only nod dumbly, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest as Alfred kisses him again.


	6. FrUk

_"...So if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real..."  
_

Arthur is six years old the first time he meets Francis.

Francis is seven, older by only three months, and smells like pastries. He has long, girly hair, and thinks he's better than everyone else because he "knows how to dress". He puffs out his chest and gloats about his silky red cape, making a rude comment about Arthur's "caterpillar" eyebrows when Arthur doesn't seem impressed.

Arthur shoves him in the dirt, making sure to get as much grass in Francis's hair as he possibly can.

"You're mean." Arthur tells him matter of factly, "I don't like mean people."

Francis scowls at him, throwing a clump of dirt in his face.

The beginning of a beautiful relationship.

* * *

Francis watches with an amused smile as Alfred waves cheerily at Arthur, shouting goodbye with a dopey grin in place. Arthur smiles tightly as he replies in kind, glaring at Francis, who seems entirely too entertained by Arthur's situation. Alfred has been pursuing Arthur for about a month, to no avail. Arthur shows no interest in Alfred, feigning ignorance whenever an advance is made because, despite his sometimes harsh attitude towards Alfred, he doesn't want to hurt his feelings. He bids Alfred farewell in a way he hopes comes off only as friendly, and begins to walk towards Francis.

"And you haven't threatened him once. I'm very proud, _sourcils_."

Arthur rolls his eyes, falling into step with Francis, "I'm not the barbarian you seem to think I am, Francis. Alfred has a crush; it'll fade with time." He gives Francis a sideways glance, "Besides, not having your feelings returned must be very difficult, and I don't want to hurt his feelings."

Francis quirks a brow, "The heartless Arthur Kirkland is not as heartless as he seems."

Arthur frowns, "Whoever said I was heartless?"

"You laughed when we witnessed that elderly woman run over a pigeon, _cher_." Francis reminds him, "And you smiled when other cars ran it over."

Arthur gives Francis a look, "You're well aware of the hatred I hold for pigeons: they are rats with wings and should be treated accordingly. Of course I reacted that way!" Arthur glances around, ensuring that no one but them can hear what is said next, "I cry when I watch sad movies; how is that heartless?"

Francis chuckles, "I had forgotten about your weeping when we watch P.S. I Love You." Arthur's heart flutters at the words, but he doesn't react outwardly, " _Désolé_ , Arthur; you were never heartless to begin with."

Arthur nods imperiously, sticking his nose into the air, "Very well, I accept your apology."

"I would not have been able to sleep without it." Francis replies sardonically.

_'...I love you, Francis.'_

* * *

"Why are you so upset?" Francis asks him softly, cradling Arthur's face in his hands. It's pouring, and the rain is bleeding through their clothes and chilling them, but neither of them care.

"Because you were snogging that bint in front of my nephew, you sod!" Arthur snarls, his fists clenched, "He's an impressionable boy, and I don't want him having that kind of an influence!"

That's not why.

He's upset because he's been in love with Francis for years and can't move on. He's upset because Francis doesn't seem to see him in the same light and he's afraid there will never be another for him. He's upset because stupid bloody _Peter_ could tell he is in love with Francis, who claims to be an expert in matters of the heart and has no bloody clue. He's upset because Francis will never touch him like this with romantic feelings behind it and because it's raining like it does in a bloody chick flick before the big kiss when nothing of the sort will occur.

Francis shakes his head, azure eyes studying Arthur's face intensely as he says, "Don't lie to me, _lapin_." They're both silent for a moment, rain plastering their clothes to their bodies, "I didn't kiss her."

" _Really?_ " Arthur drawls, attempting to come off as sarcastic, but only managing a doubtful tone, "Because it certainly looked like you were doing just that."

He's trying not to sound crushed, but some of his sadness and disappointment bleed through. Arthur curses himself, hoping that Francis will be dull for once and not pick up on it.

"She came onto me." Francis tells him, "Honestly, _cher_ , there's really only one person I want to kiss, and it isn't her."

Arthur can't bear to ask who it is.

Francis stares at Arthur for a moment, brushing some hair off of his face before rolling his eyes and muttering a fond, "Oh, _sourcils_."

He leans in, tilting Arthur's chin up and pressing their lips together. Arthur is smiling softly when they separate, scarcely able to believe what has just happened.

"I never thought..." Arthur trails off, thinking of all of the uncertainty he has dealt with, the longing, "Have you always felt this way?"

Francis nods, " _Oui_. Ever since you shoved me into a pile of mud."

Arthur huffs, but cannot bring himself to frown, "It was dirt, Francis." He shoves Francis lightly, "And why couldn't you have told me sooner?"

Long fingers trace patterns on Arthur's cheek as Francis replies, "I am not as confident as you seem to think; how could I have known that you returned my feelings?"

Arthur laughs, feeling very much like a character in a movie as he answers, "I shoved you in the dirt, didn't I?"

"You said you didn't like me." Francis reminds him.

"Your hair was like gold and you smelled sweeter than anyone I had ever met; I liked you as much as a six year old could."

Francis kisses Arthur's nose, "Haughtiness and all?"

Arthur laughs, "Of course, frog."


End file.
